


Espers

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Earth, Alternative Universe - FBI, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Case Fic, Digital Art, First Time, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Paranormal Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: SSA Rodney McKay of the Extrasensory Unit has something to hide. If his partner, SSA Sheppard finds out, Rodney might lose him forever.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 41
Kudos: 192





	Espers

**Author's Note:**

> Beta and Art assistance by Em-Kellesvig.
> 
> Many thanks to the [Just Write](https://discord.gg/w5N7ys) writers group on Discord, esp. the gang on the #sprint channel! You guys are the bestest.

  
[](http://www.squidge.org/~esteefee/imgs/espers.png)  
image by ~xt3 and em-kellesvig

"You're not going to believe this," SSA Sheppard said, striding in and unfolding a map onto Rodney's desk. "I plotted the locations of all the reports and I think the technomancer is working in two areas, not one. Check it out." He pushed the map closer and almost knocked over Rodney's coffee.

"Hey, watch it!" 

"Sorry. This Harley Bandit has been bugging the crap out of me."

"It's a nuisance case," Rodney said, clutching his coffee protectively. "Shenanigans. Whoever it is isn't even harming anyone. If anything, they're helping society! Those motorcycles are violating city noise ordinances—"

John stood back and rubbed his jaw. "You know as well as I do it's not the what, it's the how, Rodney."

"But—" 

John's phone beeped with a text before Rodney could press his point further, and it was an important point. His stomach sank every time John brought up the stupid cold case in between their more important work, and he wanted to smack the back of his partner's head. Actually, his partner's head had been an obsession of Rodney's for a lot longer than that. There was just something about the crisp, dense texture of John's hair that begged to be touched.

"What? Is my hair doing that thing again?" Sheppard said, and he brushed his hand over his cowlicks. "I tried some new goo this morning but it's already worn off."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were the esper, and you're using your kinesis to make your hair stick straight up."

"You're a comedian." Sheppard folded up the map and dropped it in a drawer, saying, "We've got another case, funny man. 4th and K. Cops are already on the scene. My source says it's a mindbender." His lips tightened.

"Oh." Mindbenders weren't necessarily bad people, but if they showed up on the Extra Sensory Unit's radar, it was usually for a good reason.

"Your tin hat." Sheppard tossed Rodney a baseball cap. It said, 'FBI,' but more importantly, Rodney had long ago designed the tech within that would keep psychics out of his head. He put the cap on and flipped on the tiny switch under the brim, reassured by the beep that indicated the tech was working.

"This thing is going to give me brain cancer someday."

"Yeah, but the tradeoff is not getting your brain splattered by a Scanner, so yay for that." Sheppard tugged on his own cap.

Rodney shivered. "I really didn't need that image in my head, thank you very much." 

John smirked back at him and saluted. "I live to serve."

"Now who's the comedian?" Rodney muttered, and followed him out the door.

* * *

"John Sheppard, FBI Extra Sensory Unit." John flashed his badge. 

"Yes, we're for real, and yes, extra-sensory powers exist," Rodney said, breezing by the agog police officer standing by the apartment door. John shot him a look, and Rodney shrugged. "It gets a little tedious having to explain ourselves to the hoi polloi." 

"The what now?"

"Oh, please, like you didn't have a classical education."

John grimaced and waved toward the center of the room, where a dead man was splayed out on the floor, spread-eagle. He wore an expensive, three-piece suit—silk, it looked like—and the top of his skull was an unsightly, spongy mess of gore and brain matter. Rodney swallowed hard and focused his attention on the splatter pattern, almost fractal in form.

"Not a typical Scan," John said, echoing his thoughts. "More controlled."

"Scanners aren't typically controlled. Emotion is their trigger." Rodney tugged his hat more firmly onto his head. Not that it was necessary; he wasn't an idiot. He'd designed the tech so the field it generated erred on the side of caution by a margin of error of 10.6 inches, more than adequate if the hat should be jostled somehow. 

"So what emotion triggered this?" John said, walking around the corpse. "According to background, this guy was as vanilla as it gets. Worked his nine to five at the CPA firm and raised gerbils as a hobby."

"Gerbils, ugh."

John raised an eyebrow. "Now you hate fluffy little gerbils?"

"They have scratchy claws."

John snorted a laugh and looked away. "Okay, then." 

Rodney loved making John laugh, even if he tended to sound like a punctured dirigible. Not that Rodney had ever punctured a dirigible, but he had an active imagination. 

"Rodney. Over here."

"Did you find something?"

"I think it's called a clue."

"Ha-oh-ha." Rodney circled the body to take the evidence bag John offered him. "A leaf?"

"It was stamped into the carpet. I think it came off the suspect's shoe."

"This is what you give me to work with? A leaf? What do I look like, a botanist?"

Sheppard whacked him on the shoulder as he strolled by. "I marked off the shoeprint, too."

"Oh, a plethora of evidence! One might say a cornucopia." 

"Yup. I'm generous that way."

* * *

Sheppard wasn't wrong. According to their forensics nerd, Parrish, the leaf turned out to be from an exceedingly rare orchid, controlled and most likely grown in a specialty greenhouse in England. It never should have left its home country.

"Well, how the heck did it get here?" Sheppard said, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "And how does poor Mr. Eggers factor into it? He hasn't been out of the country, like, ever."

"With protected species like these, it's more likely it came to the U.S. via a smuggling operation," Rodney said, adding grudgingly, "according to Parrish."

"Smuggling." John raised both eyebrows. "Orchid smugglers."

"Hey, don't blame the messenger."

"It's...just when I think rich people have thought up the most ridiculous thing to waste money on..."

"I know. Next it will be white ocelots from Russia."

"Okay, so, help me with this. Eggers is either cooking the books for the smuggling operation, whoever it is; or, more likely, he figures it out and decides to be a whistle blower. The organization has to take him out. They send their fixer, who just happens to be a mindbender."

"A mindbender would be extremely useful for getting things through customs," Rodney agreed reluctantly.

"You're telling me," Sheppard said, disgust evident. 

Rodney ducked his head to hide his wince. "But a fixer like that would be too expensive to keep on call all the time."

"I guess. Which means, if we track them down, we might be able to roll them over on a bunch of other operations." Sheppard grinning at him across the desk.

"Let's not count our ocelots." 

"It's practically in the bag," John protested. 

"Your unfounded optimism is extremely annoying." Rodney pulled his keyboard closer and started digging up information on the firm Eggers worked for, Oberoth CPA & Associates. The more Rodney dug, the more he grew certain they'd need a warrant, post-haste.

"These guys have a client list that would give Eliot Ness a hard-on. How is it we haven't heard of them before?"

John blinked at Rodney earnestly. "Maybe because they have a mindbender on retainer?"

Rodney cursed and chucked his coffee lid at John's smirking face. "I've sent you enough to apply for the warrant. Get it done while I go get us lunch."

"How come I have to do the paperwork?" 

"Because you're an asshole."

"Fair point." John bent his head over his keyboard and started typing. "Make mine turkey."

"Predictable," Rodney sang as he headed for the elevator. He, on the other hand, didn't like being predictable. For one thing, as an agent, it was safer to exercise random patterns during his day. And that way, he hoped to prevent getting caught for as long as possible.

Not that he thought the Bureau would discriminate against him, what with Section Chief Emmagan being a telepath. But Rodney had been in the closet a very long time—his entire life, with the exception of a few short summers in his youth visiting his grandparents—and what started as caution had become a way of life. 

He took a snaking route to Bub and Pop's and ordered himself a cheesesteak and John his usual, then sat at a table to wait. He heard a motorcycle roaring past and his eyes closed automatically; he drifted until he heard his number being called. He collected and paid, then tromped back to the office.

"Lettuce, tomato, mayo, mustard, and bland as you please," Rodney said, dropping the bag on Sheppard's desk. "And a root beer, you freak."

"Awesome. I talked to the D.A. The warrant is filed. You realize the judge is probably going to limit us to a bunch of account data, no communications."

"Yep."

John sighed. "You want to pull in Agent Woolsey."

"He is the best forensics accountant we've got."

"He's got a stick up his ass."

"That's what makes him so good," Rodney said, opening his pastrami and taking a bite. "When's the warrant coming through?"

"Ronon threw it on a stack he was asking the judge to sign. So, a couple of hours. And we owe Ronon a six pack."

"At this point, we owe him a case."

* * *

Niles Oberoth, CPA, was a physically intimidating man, but he made no move to stop Rodney and John after they showed him their warrant and charged through to the inner offices.

"I have nothing to hide, gentlemen," Oberoth said to their backs, and Rodney and John shared a look. Rodney had no doubt that Oberoth had enough connections he'd somehow gotten wind of the warrant in advance, but there was no way his employees had had enough time to shred every piece of evidence. Indeed, the files looked like a tornado had swept through, but there were lots of cabinets still full of files, and the floor was a snowstorm of paper.

Rodney pointed to Chuck and Amelia, two junior agents, and said, "Box it up. All of it is coming with us." Then he said to Oberoth's assistant, "Cooperate with us and you'll have immunity and a friendly fed shadowing you for safety. Don't, and we'll prosecute you, and he'll probably still have you snuffed for knowing too much."

"Rodney," John said warningly, a smile playing around his mouth.

"What? It's true."

"I don't 'snuff' people," Oberoth said, lifting his chin.

"Sorry, you'll have your pet Scanner do it," Rodney said sarcastically.

"I don't do any such thing." Oberoth turned to his assistant. "They can't force you to cooperate, Niam."

"Yes, sir," Niam said, looking doubtful.

"If you'll come with me, Mr. Oberoth," Sheppard said, inserting himself between Oberoth and Niam, "I have some questions."

Rodney silently applauded his brilliant partner as he led Oberoth away so Rodney could finally get to work.

"User and password," he barked at Niam, and sat down at Oberoth's desk. 

"Admin and ascension. With an 'at' symbol and a zero for the 'o.'"

"Oh my God—you're not one of those self-helpers, are you?"

"The Ascension program will grant you a happier, more promising life in just ten steps," Niam quoted primly.

"It promises to empty your checking account and leave you homeless. Please don't fall for that crap. Okay, I'm in." Rodney started poking around and almost immediately encountered a file he couldn't open. "This database is encrypted. Where's the key?"

"Mr. Oberoth has all the keys. He's the only one who can decrypt it."

Rodney stared him down. "Niam. You're telling me every single time you had to access this customer's database you had to hunt down your boss to crack it open? Come on!"

"He just...if he knew..." 

"Niles isn't in charge anymore. Trust me on this. After we're done here, you're going home to take a nice, long vacation."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are."

"I have a USB fob with all the keys on it. You should be able to open any file you need. It's in my desk."

"Perfect." Rodney went and grabbed the fob and copied the keys off it, then decrypted the Traveler's database as a test. "Looks good." He held his wrist up to his mouth. "We're all good here, Sheppard."

"Copy that. Banks and Campbell are finishing up their final load. Over."

Rodney shut down the laptop. "This baby is coming with me." He filled out the warrant seizure form and had Niam sign it, then carefully slipped the laptop into a bubble-wrapped evidence bag and sealed it.

"Niam, you're a peach. Go home now and never mind the federal agent assigned to protect you. Hopefully, this will be resolved by the time you've finished step five."

Niam's face crumpled a little. "Step five is finding a career that satisfies you."

Rodney cleared his throat. "Well, there you go."

* * *

Back at the field office, Rodney pulled up Oberoth's private client list and whistled. "Listen to this: they've got the Genii Gang: Acastus Kolya, Ladon Radim, Colim Cowen. They're also working for the Attero Group, Ltd."

"Aren't those the assholes responsible for the recent oil spill in the Gulf?"

"Yup." Rodney's fingers curled, and he took a slow breath. "But here's the kicker: Travelers, International. An umbrella corporation for Larrin, Inc., and Katana, Inc., which in turn are shell companies for a whole host of wholesalers and distributors."

Sheppard sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "This is going to be an unholy mess."

"Buckle your belt, G-man, and get started on the boxed files." Rodney stepped over to Woolsey's desk. "Agent Woolsey, let's start with the digital accounts for any wholesalers under Travelers, International; specifically, hothouse plant dealers."

"Of course, Agent McKay," Woolsey said, taking his copy of the disk. 

"I love it when you go all bossy," Sheppard said when Rodney came back, and Rodney shot him a dark look.

"Get to work, or I'll tell Ronon you were the one who hid his stapler."

"Traitor."

"And you know how that man feels about his stapler."

"He has an unhealthy relationship with that thing." But Sheppard immediately started sorting files.

* * *

Three hours and four cups of coffee later, Woolsey emailed Rodney a smoking hot clue. "Anything in the paper invoices about a Lucius Lavin, contracted as an international courier? Turns out he's the guy they used for the orchid job."

"Yeah, there's a bunch for him." Sheppard tidied a stack of papers and handed them up.

"Looks like most of 'em go to a post office box—ah! Ah-ha. The earlier ones are to this address: 436 11th St NW. I'm emailing you the details now. We need a warrant for this place."

"Oh, yeah?" Sheppard looked up from the floor, his eyes dark and challenging. "And what do I get for filing for the warrant?"

He was a goddamn flirt. Rodney licked his lips and responded, "The satisfaction of a job well done." 

John's eyes dropped to Rodney's mouth and he smiled. "Awesome."

Rodney cleared his throat. "Email on its way."

* * *

The next morning, warrant in hand, they hit the warehouse with a couple of SWATs for backup. Rodney issued caps along with strong warnings about keeping them on and activated at all times. He didn't mention that he'd be able to see the field around their heads and he'd know if they weren't on. Rodney had always been terrified of mindbenders.

"Lucius Lavin, this is the FBI. Open up: we have a warrant." Sheppard pounded hard on the corrugated metal door of the warehouse for effect.

Rodney secretly loved it when John used that voice. 

John cocked his head. "Hear that? He's inside." John stepped back and nodded to one of the SWAT guys, this one a gal, who used her crow bar to make quick work of the door lock. As soon as the door was open, John charged through. Rodney hastened to keep up with the idiot, the other two following behind. 

"Medeiros, you and Finn take the second floor," John said to the SWAT gal. "McKay and I will take the ground floor."

They streamed almost silently through the empty warehouse. Rodney stayed at John's shoulder, keeping an eye out for the perp, a photo of the bulky Lavin in his mind's eye. 

John stilled, raising a hand. "Movement over by the forklifts," he said quietly.

Rodney nodded, and together they shuffled forward, keeping low so they had the cover of the pallets stacked with wooden crates. Rodney was dying to search them for contraband, but at present they were perfect for—

Shots rang out, and John ducked with a curse. Rodney was already on the floor behind him, and he saw with horror that John was kneeling, grabbing his bare head, his hat blown clear off. John let out a moan of pain.

There was no time. Rodney scrambled up next to him until their heads were pressed close and his cap could do the work for two. 

"Son of a bitch, that hurt," John said, panting.

"Don't move, don't move," Rodney said frantically, running his hand over John's head and through his hair. "Are you shot? Did the shot hit your head?" Rodney couldn't feel any blood.

"No. He hit the hat. Then my head started boiling."

"That would be a good mindbender at work. We're lucky he didn't have time to turn your gun on me." 

John calmed a little and tried to pull away. 

"Hey! Don't move, you idiot. The field ends right here! We have zero tolerance."

John stared at him eye to eye, then rolled his head so they were cheek to cheek. "Then how are we supposed to get the bad guy, bright eyes?" He clicked his radio. "This is Sheppard to team 2, please respond. Sheppard to team 2, please come in. We have contact."

"This is Finn. There's tons of contraband up here but we got trapped as soon as we walked in. It's like a cage. Medeiros is trying to rig some C4."

"I like the way she thinks. Hang tight. Sheppard out." He tightened his arm around Rodney and then straightened a little. "Looks like it's up to us."

Rodney took a moment just to savor how close they were. "Well, that would be a nifty trick. How do you propose to get the perpetrator while we're glued together?"

"Simple. First, we switch sides so my right arm is free." Sheppard proceeded to squirm over Rodney, keeping low so as not to give Lavin a target. Rodney tried to help, but he figured out quickly the best thing to do was just lie there and let John work around him. All the rubbing and squirming face to face got to be a bit much, though, and Rodney felt pretty flushed by the end of it.

John chuckled a little, sounding breathless. "Well, at least now, I know you really were flirting with me."

"Shut up." Rodney flushed even hotter. Attraction had never been the problem. "So, now your shooting hand is free; what next."

"Now, we go get him. Together." 

"Oh, brilliant." 

"Up and at 'im." Every time John talked, his jaw brushed against Rodney's cheek, giving him a tingle. Of course, he'd have horrible beard burn by the end of the day and be the laughing stock of everyone he knew, but so be it. At least he'd know what this sensation felt like.

Awkwardly, they both rose to a crouch, and then John shouted, "There's no getting out of here, Lavin! You're surrounded."

"Oh, please! I don't know how your minds are closed to me, but as soon as I encounter a few that aren't, the odds will be in my favor."

The obnoxious voice was coming from behind the right forklift. With a simple touch of his mind, Rodney could flip on the ignition and expose Lavin, but he'd be exposing himself in the process. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to have John looking at him with utter disgust. 

"You'd better count your Cheetos then, Lavin," John yelled, and then said quietly, his cheek moving against Rodney's, "Ready, partner? I'll shoot us some cover." 

Rodney wasn't at all ready, but with John tucking him close by his side, torso heaving against his, their bodies moving in tandem, he felt like he could do just about anything. They scuttled quickly along the path between the crates until they had a clear vantage of the forklift.

"You see him?" John whispered.

Rodney used the barest hint of his esper to coax the seat back even further. Now he could see the wispy hair of their perpetrator, Lucius Lavin. "Behind the seat."

"We're not bringing him in clean," John said. "If you get a shot, take it."

"You want me to take him down?" Rodney asked incredulously.

"You're a good shot when you need to be." 

Rodney could feel John's smile and he smiled involuntarily in return. Then John moved, and Rodney had no choice but to follow. The next few moments were a blur—John firing as he jumped on top of a crate, hauling Rodney with him; John scrambling on top of the forklift, still firing, startling Lavin into popping into Rodney's line of sight, and then Rodney took the shot. He somehow hit Lavin's arm in motion as he aimed at John, and the gun went flying. While Lavin writhed in pain, John unceremoniously hauled him from behind the forklift and plopped him in front of Rodney, who hastily pulled off his cap and shoved it on top of Lavin's head. John secured Lavin's hands behind his back with handcuffs and then grinned and ruffled Rodney's hair.

"Well, that was easy," John said, and Rodney could have killed him. Or, quite possibly, kissed him senseless, if that were an option. From John's grin, it very likely was, but Rodney had too many secrets, and the specter of Lavin taking aim at John was just the latest. It could have been prevented if Rodney just came clean.

"Hey," John said as they walked back through the warehouse with Lavin in tow. "This is a win. What's up with your face?"

"I'll go on ahead and free Finn and Medeiros." 

"Okay. You do that," Sheppard said.

Rodney felt his eyes on him as he walked out.

* * *

The SWAT team members were already out of their cage and rattling down the wooden stairs by the time Rodney reached them. 

"Agent McKay! Is everything all right?" Medeiros said, charging up to him. 

"All clear. We have Lavin in custody." 

John appeared a moment later shoving a grumbling Lavin out the door into the sunlight, FBI hat looking somewhat ridiculous on his head. 

"That's him?" Finn said. "One of those...Scanners?" He sounded far too terrified for a seasoned SWAT team member.

"They're gonna need a special cell for him," Medeiros said, appearing satisfied. 

Rodney turned away and followed John to the SWAT van, where John very carefully cuffed Lavin to the bench and secured his ankles before reaching up and making sure his hat was on snugly. Lavin's arm, Rodney noted with approval, already had a field dressing on it.

"One of us should ride to the hospital with him," Rodney said. Just in case, he didn't add, Finn or Medeiros got any funny ideas.

"Sound plan. You up for it?" 

"Yes. Grab us something to eat while I get him treated and brought to the field office. He and I can have a nice talk."

"I'm just a businessman," Lavin protested. "You've got me all wrong."

"Uh-huh. I'm sure Mr. Eggers got you really wrong." John stepped down from the van to let Rodney climb in.

Lavin looked away. "I don't know who that is."

"Right. We'll just chat about what else you don't know on the way."

* * *

Once Lavin was in the hot box, his situation seemed to hit home. Especially after John laid out the special cell arrangement and protocol that had been designed for all mindbenders in the prison system. It wasn't a very happy life—an irritating helmet that had to be worn at all times; in addition, the cell itself was constructed as a Faraday cage on the frequency telepaths used. Rodney had been consulted in its construction after he'd completed his PhDs in mechanical engineering and paraphysical sciences. Before he'd left academia for the excitement of the ESU.

"If you cooperate, tell us how it went down with Eggers, who your contracts are, we could arrange for you to have more yard time than the protocol insists on," John said coaxingly. "Think about it, Lavin: being stuck in a wire mesh cell 24/7 with only fifteen minutes a day out in the open. That's gotta suck."

"It wasn't my idea to kill Eggers; you have to believe me," Lavin whined like a mosquito. Rodney didn't doubt that if all three of them weren't wearing dampening hats, they'd sure as heck believe him and escort him out of the field office themselves.

"So, whose idea was it?" Rodney leaned back in his chair and toyed with his water bottle. Lavin eyed it, and Rodney decided it was time for a little honey. He cracked it open and slid it over to Lavin, who had to bend his head over his cuffed hands to take a sip.

"I don't know names; I swear. Please, kind fellows, have a little pity."

"If you don't know names, you have some other way of contacting them. Cough it up or we hit you with everything, every federal crime, including capital murder." John stared with hooded eyes, his nostrils flaring, and Rodney bit his lip watching. 

Lavin started talking fast. "They use shipping codes, and I contact them by teletype using Morse."

"You're shitting me," John said, turning to Rodney, who was every bit as awed. John slipped a pad of paper and a short pencil under Lavin's fingers. "Start writing. Every code, every contact, and what went down with Eggers."

Lavin started writing.

* * *

"Okay, so this Travelers group, consisting of Larrin, Inc., and Katana, Inc., employ thousands of legitimate distributors, but their under-the-table work consists of hot commodities fulfilled by a crew of smugglers with their mindbender getting them through customs tight spots." Rodney cracked open his coffee and grimaced at the dregs collecting at the bottom.

John pushed his own cup toward Rodney. "Right. And now that we have Lavin, they'll probably fold up and reorganize pretty fast. We need to get to them before they find out and all our info is old news."

"What's our in?"

"We ask for something big but easy to get through customs. Something they don't need Lavin for."

Rodney grimaced. "I know that look—" 

"Hothouse flowers are the best option," John said apologetically.

"You know I'm allergic!"

"They'd have to use the warehouse Lavin told us about, but as long as we don't ask for any wildly protected species, they won't need Lavin. They'll fake the papers like usual."

"I'll get you for this. Isn't there something you're allergic to? Other than emotional outbursts, I mean?"

John grinned. "You're so cute when you're irritated."

"That would certainly explain why you constantly—oh."

John's smile broadened, and he ducked his head to start typing.

* * *

"This was a stupid idea. Didn't I say this was a stupid idea?" Rodney said breathlessly as he dodged the cascade of machine gun fire. "We should have brought Ronon."

"You mentioned it, yeah," John's voice came back in his ear. "One on your six." 

Rodney spun around and fired almost blindly, heard cursing, and then dodged left behind a bunch of palm trees strapped together. He noted in passing they were the very exotic palms John had ordered from the smugglers, and were in good health. "Nice foliage," he muttered under his breath as he tripped over a pallet loader and almost ran right into John, who pulled him into the shadow of a structural wall. 

John signaled two more at twelve o'clock and suggested they flank them. Rodney shook his head and countered with stalking them from behind, together.

John: flank. Go.

Rodney: no. Follow.

John: no. Flank. Then added a "What the fuck?" motion with his free hand. Rodney countered by pointing at his head, meaning, "Who's the smart one here?" John gestured, "I'm the one with military experience!" "Oh, big fucking whoop!" Rodney replied by jacking off. Finally, John dropped his head and wearily motioned, "Fine, have it your way, you schmuck," a gesture that didn't exist in the FBI handbook but nevertheless was utterly familiar. 

John crept in the shadows with Rodney following until their targets were in sight. Both were women, to his admittedly biased surprise. Beautiful women, lean and striking, like blades poised to fall, one with dark bronze skin and long, brown hair, the other taller and paler with copper hair. John ducked down and motioned Rodney to circle, but at that very moment the taller woman raised her head and stared directly at them with vibrant green eyes.

"What have we here?" she said, and fired. Not at them, but at something above John's head. A moment later, a wooden globe came crashing down as John dodged out from underneath. Rodney started firing at the two women, and winged the dark-haired one in the shoulder. The green-eyed woman yelled with rage and came running right toward Rodney as if she were wearing a bullet-proof shield.

"Rodney, stay down!" John yelled, but Rodney was too busy firing at the demon-eyed woman, who kept coming, improbably—neither his shots nor John's seemed to be connecting. A moment later, Rodney was on the ground, stunned by something, he wasn't sure what.

John shouted, but Rodney couldn't hear the words, and then he saw the woman go down, finally, her face contorting as her chest bloomed red.

Then John was beside him and touching him frantically. 

"Rodney, Rodney, Rodney," John chanted, his hands pressing against Rodney's side. Suddenly, there was pain, oh, so much pain. Rodney screamed weakly, but he had no air.

"It's okay, it's okay, buddy. Just breathe," John said. "Please, Rodney." His mouth was distorted somehow, his eyes wild, but his touch was soothing, so soothing against Rodney's side. It should hurt more, shouldn't it? But the pain was easing. Rodney's brain was going loose, all his limbs relaxing under the warm strength pouring from John's hands.

"John?"

"Just stay with me, okay? I swear to God, you're going to be fine." John's face was damp with sweat, making his eyes look luminous and his lips—oh, Rodney wanted to kiss those lips.

"Want to kiss you," Rodney mumbled. Crap. Well, Sheppard was probably already aware of that. 

Or maybe not, from the way John's eyes widened impossibly and he licked his lips. "You can, we can, just...just hang in there, okay. Just let me, let me..." John closed his eyes, and the warmth sharpened to a point. Rodney cried out, and John made a soothing noise but kept doing whatever he was doing, until he sagged and pulled back.

The heat died down, and all pain went with it. Rodney felt...okay. He frowned. "What...?"

John licked his lips again, this time nervously, and said, "I need to call a bus and secure the scene. Just lie still, okay?"

"Okay..." Rodney waited about a minute after John left before he gathered his courage and looked down at his torso.

Blood. There was blood all over his shirt, but the skin that showed was smooth, unblemished. Whole. Rodney touched himself, ran a hand where the pain had been, and found nothing but soft skin. 

John had fixed him. John had esper. 

He was a touch healer of some kind. That was the only explanation. The realization was enough to send Rodney back into a tailspin. 

"You okay?" John said a few minutes later, squatting next to him. "Scene is secure. Katana will make it. I've got her wound bandaged and an ambulance is on the way. You winged the guy as well. Larrin is dead." John's voice was even. "Coroner is heading over." 

"Okay," Rodney said quietly.

"Really? That's all you have to say?" 

"What? I'm okay. Thanks to you."

John looked down. "Yeah."

"I'll have to—" 

"I know. It'll be in both our reports," John said heavily. "Thirty years in the closet, blown."

"Why? Why were you in the closet?"

"Are you kidding me? Did you see the way Medeiros and Finn acted around Lavin? You think I'd make it this far in the FBI if people knew?"

So weird, hearing his own reasoning out of John's mouth. It sounded paranoid. "You're a parahealer? Who would treat you poorly when you could—"

"Right. When I could fix their bunions. Or heal their halitosis. Or I should be doctor, right? Where I could do the most good?"

"Oh."

"Right." John looked down at his sidearm before holstering it. "What about you?"

"Me? What about me?" Rodney said quickly.

John frowned at him. "Are you going to treat me differently? Look at me sideways? Want me to cure your lemon allergy? Which, I can't, by the way. I can't heal systemic problems."

"Oh, God no. No tinkering. Thanks for saving my life, though." Rodney smiled in relief, and John smiled back tightly. 

They both sat in silence until the other units arrived.

* * *

"This is the worst part," Rodney said, staring at the case report's 'forensic science addendum' screen. "And you know they're going to want to do a write up for the _Forensic Science Communications_ journal. Lo! How the brave agents tracked down the scumbag Scanner via hothouse flower identification." After a too long silence, Rodney looked up. "Uh, I didn't mean that 'Scanner' slur. I was taking the voice of the reviewers. I mean, I don't think of—"

"It's fine," John said, voice grating. "You promised you wouldn't get weird on me."

"I'm not getting weird! Especially since...since..." Rodney rubbed his face and looked up. "Can we not talk about this here?"

John nodded curtly. 

Great. Now John was pissed. And he had every right to be. Rodney sighed and went back to his report. 

As customary, they both read each other's reports before signing off on their own to make sure they hadn't missed anything. Then they dropped their reports in the Section Chief's inbox and headed out for a long-deserved drink.

"So, Larrin was a trick shot?" Rodney said, after taking a couple big gulps of his Molson's. 

John shot him a side glance and hunched over his Guinness. "She had some kind of esper. She knew I was there even when I was fully under cover and she shot dead-on even though it was too dark to see. That's why I wanted you to stay down."

"Huh." 

"None of my shots seemed to connect until she was distracted. She had some kind of metalkinesis."

"I guess we'll never know, now." Rodney felt a little sad, but not too much. Larrin tried to kill them, after all.

"There are good espers, too. Like the Section Chief," John said abruptly. 

"What? Of course there—I'm not—John!" Rodney turned on his stool. John had finished his ale and had a tiny bit of foam on his lower lip.

"For example, Jo, here, never spills a drop. Ain't that right, Jo?"

"That's for sure," the bartender said with a grin, doing something improbable with a gin bottle so the liquid arced two feet before landing in the glass. 

John applauded and tossed a big tip on the bar when the drink came back to him. 

"You mix ale with gin? Isn't that an invitation for hellish morning after?" Rodney asked.

John gave him a bitter smile and lifted the drink. "First thing I learned to cure was my daddy's hangover."

"Hmm. No lime," Rodney said thoughtfully. 

John shrugged. "Habit."

"Uh-huh. Finish that fast. We're going back to my place."

Raising an eyebrow, John toasted him with the drink and tossed back half of it in one, long gulp. Rodney watched his Adam's apple move and wet his lips. By the time they both finished their drinks, Rodney had worked himself up into a serious situation. He held his glass up to his cheek to try to cool down, ignoring John's snuffle of laughter. 

"Let's get out of here," Rodney practically growled. John paid the check quickly and they dashed out of the bar. Catching Rodney's hand, John held it tightly as they walked down the street toward the SUV. Usually, John dropped Rodney home and parked the SUV at his place, but tonight Rodney wanted John to come over to his house.

"All right, what's the big hullabal—oomph!" John said into Rodney's mouth as Rodney shoved him against his front door. He'd wanted this kiss for so long; John's full lips sucking on his, John's arms coming around him, tentatively at first, and then more strongly, until he was clutching onto Rodney as if a tornado were approaching.

"Wow," Rodney said as they parted. "Okay. I just wanted to—that was cheating. I just wanted to—wait—" But John was kissing back now, and Rodney couldn't resist, so they kissed again, this time John giving Rodney long, slow tender kisses, and Rodney resting his head back against John's arm. 

"Okay," John said, finishing with a final peck. "Now, what were you saying?"

"Huh?"

"Heh. What has your hair in a tangle?" John brushed his fingers over Rodney's head and massaged his neck a little. "At first, I thought you were all knotted up about me being an esper, which totally sucked, but now I think it's something else."

Rodney pulled away. "It's definitely something else." He should have done this long ago. Now he was just stalling, and he'd stolen a kiss he didn't deserve. "Come down to the basement."

"I'll take 'Words a serial killer might say' for 100, Alex," John joked, and Rodney elbowed him.

"This is serious." 

"Okay, okay. Serious basement things. Very serious."

Rodney shook his head and brought him down the basement stairs, then entered the six-digit code to unlock the door.

"Boy, you weren't kidding," John said, suddenly sounding nervous.

"No, I wasn't." Rodney cracked open the door to what he called his wonderland. Here, technology met paraphysics and became something new, something extraordinary. Something he couldn't share with anyone but his very closest, closeted friend, Radek.

Rodney heard John gasp behind him and closed his eyes.

"Is that...no way! Is that a Ferris Wheel?" John's voice was hushed.

Rodney swallowed around a dry throat. "Yeah. I remembered that story you told me—" 

"Coney Island. With my mom." John approached the Wonder Wheel Rodney had created, the one that floated magnetically above the hub and spun in delicate torsion while the tiny, mechanical people waved and screamed in tinny delight. Rodney had worked on it for hours, wanting to get it perfect. The figure the cars described in the air defied physics, unless you were riding a miniature jet plane. "Wow, Rodney. Just...wow."

"Pretty nifty, if I do say so." Rodney's heart trembled.

John turned wide eyes on him. "You're an esper, too."

Rodney nodded jerkily. "A technomancer."

John shook his head. Rodney waited while he processed it. He knew the look of Agent Sheppard working the angles, mapping the results. Sure enough, after a minute or so, John lifted his head and said, "Yesterday, when we were nabbing Lavin...I could swear the seat dropped back on that forklift..."

Rodney winced.

John continued, gaining steam, "...which didn't make any sense, because he'd want more cover, not less." The calculation turned into a glare. "If you did that, couldn't you—?"

"Yes, yes, I know, all right? But you're not the only one who's been in the closet for 30 years!"

John jerked back. "Hey, now."

"And it's not like you told me until you absolutely had to." That earned him a sardonic look. "By saving my life," Rodney added begrudgingly, "so kudos for that. But would you ever have told me?"

"Sure, I would," John said. "If you ever stopped blowing hot and cold on me."

"Oh."

John looked around at the tiny Tonka truck hauling packages in from the mail slot, at the pristine work bench that didn't hold a single tool, and then he looked back at Rodney, his mouth widening in an impossible grin. "Oh, hell. It's you. You're the Harley Bandit."

"Wha-why would you think that?" Rodney said weakly, but John pointed right at him.

"Two locations, one circling our neighborhood at work, the other your home address. You, the technomancer who finds loud noises annoying as fuck. One plus one equals McKay, the Infamous Harley Bandit, silent repairer of noisy mufflers. He comes in the night and disappears without a trace."

"I'm hardly even breaking the law! Those motorcycles are in violation of city noise ordinances! I'm increasing the longevity of their valves!"

John gave him a fond look.

"And I don't even trespass! I fix them from the safety of my apartment by hacking the city's cameras," Rodney said. "I don't 'come in the night,' smartass."

John snickered. 

"Oh, ha-ha. You prepubescent. And I suppose now you'll tell me you intend to fix that." Rodney felt a grin starting with his lips and taking over his entire face.

John approached him and took his hand, rubbing his thumb over Rodney's calluses. "You made me a magical Ferris Wheel, even though you were never gonna show it to me."

Rodney blushed hard. John ducked his head and brought Rodney's hand to his very pretty lips, then kissed each of Rodney's knuckles. The warm, damp pressure made Rodney's spine tingle. 

"You cad." Rodney leaned closer and John obliged the unspoken request by kissing him softly, slowly—deep, drowsy kisses that made Rodney dizzy and hard. "I thought you'd hate me."

"I don't hate you," John said, cupping his cheeks and staring at him. 

"I believe you. But I don't mind if you keep trying to convince me." 

John laughed a ridiculous laugh and pushed him up against his spotless workbench.

"Oh, no, not on my workbench."

"Yes, on your workbench. It looks plenty sturdy."

"It is, I made it myself. Oh!" Rodney twisted in John's hands, steered by John's grip on his cock to lie back on the workbench. Sure, it was the perfect height for hunching over his latest project, but apparently it was also the perfect height for John to shove down Rodney's pants and roll in close to play with him. To stroke his fingers over Rodney's stomach and thighs, and then to grasp him tightly and suck down his cock.

Rodney really was a design genius.

"Oh, God. Oh, God," Rodney moaned. John's mouth was as exquisite as advertised by those luscious lips. "Yes, there, fuck yes. Put your fingers in me."

John grinned up at him, his mouth full of Rodney's cock, sucking up and down, and up and down, while Rodney groaned and writhed. And then there was warmth, God, so much warmth twisting through him, inside him, and Rodney screamed and threw his head back and came until stars burst behind his eyelids.

"Holy Hannah, what was that?" Rodney said weakly, his knees dangling into the air as John dragged his hips to the edge of the work bench.

"Just call it my magic touch."

Rodney groaned. 

John smiled down at him and wet his lips. "Okay if I fuck you now?"

Rodney waved his hand and watched, blissed out, as John slipped a condom onto his very handsome cock. Then John shoved Rodney's knees to his chest and pushed rudely inside him. It was just what Rodney had ached for, and he lay back and let himself flop around as John fucked him tight and fast, his face growing dark with effort, his eyes gazing over Rodney like he was a particularly tasty piece of porn. Rodney's dick started to stir at the precise heat rubbing against his sweet spot and the way his hole was stretching over and over for John's thick cock.

"You feel so good," John whispered, then leaned over him, shoving just that much deeper. 

Rodney squeaked and tried to push his ass harder against John's cock, but there was nowhere to go. John had mercy on him and reached between them to take Rodney's dick in his magical, warm hand. A sure rub of his thumb and Rodney was breathless once again, coming hard and squeezing helplessly around the thick cock inside him.

"Oh, Rodney," John said, and fucked him through it, kept fucking him like a train going downhill, and Rodney spread as hard as he could for each thrust until the inevitable crash, when John landed on his chest and groaned hugely, sounding completely undone.

Rodney rubbed his back, gave him a few minutes to compose himself, and then a few more, before he said, "Should I call for the bus?"

John chuckled weakly and stirred, pushing himself up. "Not for me, but you might need a hip replacement." He tied off the condom and tossed it.

As Rodney lowered his legs, he started to understand what John meant. "Ow! Ow-ow-ow. What the heck did you do to me?"

"Here. Let me." John put his palms on Rodney's hips and massaged him gently. There wasn't much warmth, but what there was seemed to do the trick. 

"You're tired, aren't you?" Rodney said, curious. "You've run out of juice."

John snorted.

"Infant." Rodney smacked him. "I mean, you couldn't wave a hand to save a life right now."

"Yeah." John lifted Rodney to his feet, and Rodney pulled his shorts and pants back up. "I'm out of steam. A little nap, a glass of orange juice—"

Rodney made a betrayed sound.

"—make that grape juice, and I'll be right as rain." John tugged him close for a kiss. "Love you," John said bashfully. He tasted musky and sweet, and Rodney could kiss him all night, but he wanted to lie down in a bed to do it. And maybe get another one of those blow jobs.

"I love you, too, meathead. I'll bring you some grape juice, you go wash up. You know where the bathroom is."

"Oh, I remember, all right. Those bad apple tarts on game night."

"That wasn't my fault! The stupid hippie vegans screwed up. And they call themselves a health food co-op."

"Uh-huh. Funny how I was the one puking my guts out." John finished buttoning his pants. "First one into bed gets a blow job," he said, and darted up the stairs.

He beat Rodney out, but only just barely, and possibly because Rodney let him. Rodney owed him one, after all, and believed in paying his debts. 

But when he got upstairs and walked into the room, he found John asleep and bare to the waist between the sheets. He'd chosen the side of the best closest to the door. Rodney shed his undershirt and pants and climbed in beside him.

"Whuzzat?" John mumbled, and Rodney slung an arm around his waist.

"That's the sound of you missing out on a blow job," Rodney said.

"Mmmph."

"I know. Life is incredibly unfair, isn't it?"

"Grrf."

"I couldn’t agree more."

* * *

**Epilogue**

"Well, gentlemen, I'm glad to see you both coming to me with your change of status. Frankly, after reading your recent case report, I already planned to approached you, Agent Sheppard. This isn't information you should keep under your hat." Section Chief Emmagan gave them both a stern eye. "I don't need to tell you, the more espers we have visible in the ranks, the fewer issues we'll have in the streets."

"We know that, Chief," John said meekly. 

SA Campbell nodded in concert.

Rodney rolled his eyes. Talk about an optimist. Also, Chuck's crush on Emmagan was embarrassing; everyone knew the Chief had her sights set on the BAU profiler, SSA Heightmeyer.

"I'll register your new status immediately. You'll have to do a short evaluation to determine how you will be authorized to use your parasenses in the field. Welcome to the family," Chief Emmagan said, offering her hand. John and Rodney both shook and stepped back. 

"And good job on the smuggling case," she said. "I know it wasn't easy, in the end."

"No, ma'am," John said somberly.

"I look forward to seeing you take down the rest of Oberoth's clientele."

"Yes, indeed." Rodney rubbed his hands together.

"Dismissed."

They ran into SSA Dex out in the hallway, and he pounded them both on the back for a job well done. 

"You left me out of the fun, though."

John turned apologetic. "Yeah, sorry about that, Ronon. We overran our budget by using SWAT."

"Next time, bring me; I'm worth six of those guys."

"Heck, yeah."

Ronon turned to Rodney. "I heard you're a techno. You've been keeping that a secret all this time?"

"Yes. You know how that is, Dex. I'm sure people gave you grief about your waterbending."

"Not for long, they didn't." Dex smiled sharply. 

"I guess you're braver than I am," Rodney said bitterly, and John rested his hand on Rodney's shoulder. 

"Hey, none of that. It's not easy, right, Ronon? I'm third generation and my family has made a tradition of being in hiding. I'm the first Sheppard to be out professionally."

"That's cool," Ronon said. "I bet they'll be proud."

John's face twisted, and he said nothing. Rodney nudged closer.

"We're done for the day. You want to come out for a drink, Ronon?" John offered. 

Rodney gave him a disbelieving look. 

John tilted his head in response. 

Rodney sighed heavily. 

John grinned in victory.

Ronon looked between them and said warily, "Nah, thanks. I got shit to do."

"Oh, that's too bad," Rodney said, "Bye!" And dragged John toward the exit.

"Well, that was just rude," John said, sounding amused.

"You'd rather be drinking with Dex when I owe you a blow job?"

"Well, now that you mention it, sweetheart..." John slung an arm around Rodney's waist and pulled him along. "Your place or mine?"

"Let's put it this way: I make all my own toys."

"Enough said."

.............................  
January 4, 2020  
San Francisco, CA

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos if you can pick out the references to Gorky Park and Aquaman!
> 
> [The FBI's Forensic Science Communications journal](https://archives.fbi.gov/archives/about-us/lab/forensic-science-communications). 
> 
> [The Wonder Wheel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wonder_Wheel) at Coney Island.


End file.
